


The toddlers are in charge

by PlainJane



Series: Doctors and detectives [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Gender Issues, M/M, Mary is not good here, Mpreg, Parentlock, Social Issues, True Love, having it all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:11:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlainJane/pseuds/PlainJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are few things in life as exhausting as having two children under the age of five. Unless it is having three children under the age of five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The toddlers are in charge

Drew was nine months old—a chubby, blonde-haired, good-natured baby who smiled easily, slept regularly and loved to cuddle. John had been feeling wonderful since his delivery. It was almost as though nature had hit the reset button for him following the upheaval of Kit’s traumatic birth and first few months. John had struggled physically as well as emotionally during that period, and it had taken over a year for him to start feeling like himself again.

With Drew, though, he had bounced back quickly. Now he felt relatively capable of caring for himself, a (nearly) four-year-old, a baby, and his often high-maintenance mate. Who should have been back downstairs with Kit long since—he’d heard the two of them go up to the boys’ bedroom after a brief visit to the lab Sherlock had created in 221C.

John was in their bedroom, trying to keep a squirming Drew from rolling out onto the floor from the portable changing mat on the bureau while he fastened a cloth nappy and reusable cover over his bottom. He couldn’t help but smile at his youngest as Drew took advantage of his now-free legs to grab at his toes. John tickled at the baby’s exposed belly under his little jumper and delighted in his gurgling laughter.

“Da-da-da-da!” Drew chanted, reaching up for his father.

John deftly refastened Drew’s dungarees and then bent to kiss one chubby cheek fondly.

“You’ve definitely got that one down,” he said, praising his son’s verbal stylings. “Now how about ‘Papa?’”

Drew stared up at him with wide blue eyes, but said nothing. He grinned, exposing his two new teeth.

John sighed, but continued to smile at Drew. “Well, we’ll work on that.”

He gave his hands a quick going over with a fresh wet wipe, chuckling as Drew babbled away. 

“You have so much to say,” John said. “I can’t wait until we start to recognize all the words.” The baby whined a bit when John picked him up. “Now, now. You’re all right. It’s time for lunch!” John glanced up at the sound of footsteps on the upper stairs. “Oh, and it sounds like Papa and Kit are finally coming to join us, too.”

“DADDY!!!”

The shouting, as always, preceded Kit’s entrance into the room. He was an exuberant and utterly engaging child—so full of curiosity for the world (like his papa) that John couldn’t help but share his enthusiasm. John had been attempting to get Kit to practice his ‘indoor voice’ though, when he’d started going to nursery school weekday mornings. Sherlock was still proving less than helpful on that score.

“Hello, sweet boy,” he said, reaching down with his free hand to ruffle Kit’s dark auburn curls. “Is Papa coming?”

“Yup!” Kit chirped. “We did a ‘speriment. For Unca Greg’s friend.”

John grinned at him. “Oh, yes—for DI Dimmock?” John said, naming the man who was covering Greg Lestrade’s cases while he was on paternity leave. He nudged Kit back toward the door and then followed him out into the kitchen. “And what was this experiment?”

Kit scrambled up into his booster seat at the table while John manoeuvred Drew into his highchair. “Bike ardobate Yoda.”

“Bicarbonate of soda,” Sherlock corrected cheerfully, sweeping in from the sitting room. He leaned in to plant a firm kiss on John’s lips.

“Yeah, that,” Kit affirmed, with a nod of his head.

“That’s down to you,” Sherlock whispered, staying near John to nuzzle and scent him a little. “And you thought he was sleeping through that silly movie.”

“I have no regrets. The Empire Strikes Back is a classic,” John defended. He waggled his hands. “Just going to go wash up. Back in a tick.”

By the time he returned, Sherlock had settled in his chair beside Drew’s high chair and placed a couple of triangles of cheese and pickle sandwich on Kit’s plate. John sat beside his older son and took four cheese and pickle for himself.

“Mmmmm—my favourite,” Kit enthused.

“I know,” John said, winking at him. “Mine, too.” He reached over and deposited a couple of spears of cucumber onto Kit’s plate. “Mind you eat the veg as well.”

Kit nodded absent-mindedly, focusing instead on his sandwich.

“Is there any—”

“Egg and cress?” John asked. He passed the plate to Sherlock. “Course there is. If I’m going to keep you eating regularly, we have to have what you like.” He kissed the man’s cheek.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome. And you, my pet,” John cooed at Drew, who was tucked into the high chair next to Sherlock. “Look what Papa has for you!”

John passed a dish with two small mounds of purée—chick peas and carrots—to Sherlock. Drew’s eyes widened and he banged on the tray in front of him excitedly. Sherlock wrinkled his nose briefly at the soupy stuff, but managed a wry smile for his son.

“Here we are. Yum, yum, yum…”

John watched with delight as Sherlock proceeded to feed Drew while maintaining a conversation with Kit at the same time. He managed to get orange and yellow goo almost everywhere, but when he put a few pieces of cut up banana on Drew’s tray for him—some twenty minutes later—the baby was clearly sated and content.

Sherlock’s easy manner as a father had surprised John a little at first, but he was utterly delighted with the connection Kit and Drew had with their alpha parent. He had been worried about his own abilities as a parent, too, given his reluctance to have children. However, he had discovered that he liked it more and was better at it than he thought he would be.

For his own growing confidence, he owed a debt to the wise counsel of his father-in-law. Will had very quickly assured him that no first-time parent—whatever they might say—felt equipped. Certainly no first time parent thought they were getting it all right.

“Muddling through,” he’d told John, “Is the best teacher.”

And so they had. With all the ups and downs of Sherlock’s “death” and return, they had muddled through and figured things out as they went.

“Your scent has changed,” Sherlock remarked calmly.

John’s brow furrowed as he selected another cheese and pickle sandwich. He took a bite, wondering at how unaccountably hungry he was for a Saturday lunchtime. “Has it? Can’t think why.”

“You smell like heat,” Sherlock said softly.

John swallowed, glancing over to where Kit was entertaining Drew with his Barny Sponge Bear. “But…I’m still breastfeeding and Drew’s only nine months. I have at least six weeks before I have to start back on suppressants.”

“Omegas can go back into cycle earlier. I checked.”

“I know that,” John sighed. “Doctor, remember? But I…wait. When did you check?” he asked suspiciously.

“About an hour ago, when I first noticed. I went online to the Royal Omega Health Centre’s website.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it? Sherlock!”

“It’s too late to take anything anyway,” Sherlock replied calmly. “Nothing to worry about. My parents will take the boys. Mycroft is coming to pick them up in an hour.”

“An hour. Right, I have to get them packed,” John started to rise, but sat again when he felt Sherlock’s hand wrap gently around his forearm.

“I told you, it’s all fine. The boy’s things are ready to go. I have an order coming from the grocery and the chemist any minute and I’ve finished the case for Dimmock. All you need to do is call Stamford so they can reschedule your patients next week.”

John shook his head, still feeling a little shaken by the prospect of an unexpected heat. “Thanks. Thank you.”

He leaned in and kissed Sherlock. It was meant to be a quick peck of appreciation, but rapidly turned more heated as Sherlock’s scent filtered through John’s ramped up system. John slid eager fingers into the soft curls at Sherlock’s nape and lapped wantonly at his mate’s plump lips.

“An hour?” John repeatedly breathlessly when they parted.

Sherlock’s nostrils were flared and his pupils dilated. “Yes,” he growled.

“God, I hope your brother is early.” John stood with a crooked grin and collected the two boys. “Come on, you two. We need to get cleaned up. You’re going to go spend a few days with Gran and Grandad.”

“YAY!” Kit enthused, dashing ahead of John to the washroom.

When they returned, hands washed and hair brushed, Sherlock had cleared away the lunch dishes and retrieved the boys’ cases. And by the time Mycroft arrived only thirty minutes on, John had made his calls. Kit had been treated to a lively reading of _The Cat in the Hat_ and was waiting in his coat. Drew, meanwhile, was in his car seat and well into his afternoon nap.

“Thanks for taking them on such short notice,” John said.

“It’s my pleasure,” Mycroft said evenly, though his softened expression when looking at his two nephews betrayed his fondness for them. “Mummy is thrilled to have them.”

“How are Greg and Em doing?”

“Emmeline has a bit of a cold, but I expect that will pass soon. Greg is very well. He is a bit worried about returning to work, though.”

“How so?”

“He’s very keen to get back in the thick of things, but he’s concerned about leaving the baby,” Mycroft said. “We’ve engaged a nanny to start when his leave is over, and Greg is very fond of the young woman. And I have arranged to spend more time working from home. Still, Greg is worried about missing Emmeline’s important moments. I have suggested that he could always try some sort of alternative work arrangement—half time, perhaps—to see if that would suit. Of course it’s entirely his decision.”

“Yeah, it’s a difficult thing,” John confessed. “I’m glad I have the options I do.”

“The boys are ready,” Sherlock interjected. “I’ll walk down with you.”

“Oh, I can—” John started.

“NO!” Sherlock barked. “Sorry—just…not a good idea for you to leave the house now.”

John tried not to smile as Sherlock’s protective alpha began to surface.

“Yes. Best be off,” Mycroft said. “Come along, Kit. I’ve brought your favourite building blocks. You can play with them in the car.”

John crouched down to kiss Kit and let the boy hug his neck. “Goodbye, sweet boy. Love you. Be good for Uncle Mycroft, and for Gran and Grandad.”

“Okay, Daddy. Bye-bye. Love you.”

Sherlock picked up slumbering Drew in his car seat and followed Kit and his brother to the stairs.

John watched them go, already starting to feel overheated and a bit achy. With a resigned huff, he moved to the bedroom and flopped onto the bed on his back. He curled in on himself and waited for his body to take over.

What seemed like ages later, he finally looked up to see his mate entering the room with a plastic shopping bag.

“Sherlock?” he groaned. “Need you. Soon. Please.”

“Coming, John,” Sherlock assured him. He took a handful of boxes from the bag and set them on John’s nightstand before sitting down next to John’s hip. “Deliveries arrived while I was downstairs. I just had to put the ready meals away.”

“Wazzat?” John asked, starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges. He pointed at the boxes with a shaking hand.

“Alpha heat-strength condoms.”

John’s eyes widened. “Oh, god. I haven’t taken any birth control. Sherlock—!”

“Shh,” Sherlock said, rubbing over John’s back. “There’s no time for pills. I’ll take care of it this time. I’m not in rut. Everything will be fine.”

“Mmmmm hot,” John said irritably.

“I know,” Sherlock replied with a lascivious smile. “Let’s get you out of those clothes, hmmm?”

John complied with Sherlock’s prodding hands, lifting his arms and legs and head on cue to allow the alpha to remove everything. “You’re enjoying this,” he complained.

Sherlock shook his head. “I am not enjoying your discomfort or the scent of your distress. However…well, you are beginning to smell very ripe, too. And, oh, John, you are so lovely.” Sherlock dragged an appreciative hand over John’s bared belly.

“I didn’t notice it coming. Why didn’t I notice it?”

“It’s been a while,” Sherlock reasoned. He tugged the last of John’s clothing free and added it to the pile on the floor. “And you’ve been busy.”

“But I don’t want to go into heat,” John muttered, barely registering how irrational he sounded. “It’s too soon. Not ready.”

“I know,” Sherlock said.

John blew air out between pursed lips. He watched as Sherlock opened one of the boxes to take out a condom and then began to methodically remove his own clothes. He tossed them on the chair in the corner.

John hummed appreciatively as Sherlock’s lovely bum was revealed. He loved Sherlock’s bum. It was round, but not overly large. It was firm and toned—two perfect, plump handfuls. Especially lovely when he was pulling Sherlock closer to drive the thick alpha cock deeper inside his passage. He whimpered a little as lubrication began to trickle from his body.

“Please…”

Sherlock turned back to him, completely naked now. John looked down at his mate’s stiff cock, carefully wrapped in one of the new condoms—he didn’t need to reassure himself that his alpha wanted him, but seeing the evidence made him shudder with anticipation. Sherlock’s eyes had darkened in response to John’s heat and John could tell he was only just holding on to his restraint. He would not lose himself completely the way he did when he was in rut, but he would be led by the needs of John’s body.

“I know this isn’t ideal,” Sherlock rumbled. He rolled John gently to his back and stretched out alongside him. He started mouthing at John’s bond bite. “But surprise heats aren’t all bad. Remember, that’s what brought us together.”

One thumb rubbed gently over John’s tender nipples. John arched into the touch with a low groan.

“ _Sherlock_.”

They were the last words either of them would speak for some time. The glory of their relationship now was in this comfort—the ease, the practiced reliance on each other. They didn’t need to have sex to be intimate; neither did they need to speak to communicate.

Sherlock suckled at John’s neck, licking and nibbling as he strummed John’s sensitive breasts. John knew he was leaking milk. He was beyond caring. He moaned and turned his face, begging for a kiss.

He was obliged. Sherlock captured John’s mouth and drove his tongue within. He thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, all the while keeping up a steady torment on John’s nipples. John was writhing—not trying to withdraw, but unable to control his desperation.

An omega in heat needed to be fucked, but a bonded omega’s desire for their alpha during heat was more than just physiological or chemical. It was elemental. Psychological…or perhaps psychic was a better word. John had never believed in the existence of a telepathic bond, but there were times—especially early in his heats—when he would swear he could hear Sherlock thinking. And he wanted it. Oh, god, how we wanted it. Every fibre of his being ached, longed to connect in every way with his mate.

John kissed Sherlock hungrily, scrabbling for some hold on his alpha from his position on his back. Sherlock grasped at the seeking hand and laced their fingers together. He pushed John’s hand back into the mattress and held it there briefly. The restraint was not forceful or painful—John could easily have broken the hold if he wished. Sherlock released his hand, but John left it where it was on the bed. If John were with a random alpha, as he had been on occasion back in the days before he was bonded, he’d have held his strength in reserve in case it was needed. But with Sherlock, the man he loved, he had no fear. He had never felt trepidation in his alpha’s arms, not from their very first heat together as near strangers.

The thought of that first heat—of a shy, virginal Sherlock trusting John with his body’s demands and letting John guide him… John moaned again, his cock twitching with the need to be touched. Sherlock brushed his hand lazily over the plane of John’s abdomen. He released John’s mouth and bent his head to capture one leaking nipple between his lips.

This time John shouted. His hips arched off the bed and his hand clasped Sherlock’s nape, holding the alpha in place as he suckled.

Sherlock brushed over the soft fuzz on John’s belly, traced winding circles around his navel before finally—CHRIST finally—slipping through the nest of dark golden brown hair to capture John’s cock. John grunted his approval. He wiggled into the delicious friction of Sherlock’s fist, pushing his cock through the circle of his alpha’s lovely long fingers. Again and again and again.

Sherlock pulled off of John’s breast with a pop; John whined in protest, but was instantly mollified. Sherlock quickly kissed his way to the other small mound and resumed his gentle torture.

John could feel the hot length of Sherlock’s cock against his thigh. That was his. His to use. To ride. Sherlock—good alpha, good mate—would fill him up. Press against those places inside where he most needed to be touched. Stretch him out and flood him with come.

John whined again, pressing his thigh insistently against his mate’s enormous erection. Sherlock groaned his understanding. He gave John’s cock one last firm pull before releasing him. But before he could move to mount his omega, John had rolled them together until Sherlock’s back was pressed into the mattress.

Sherlock growled approval as John hovered over him, straddling his hips and reaching back for Sherlock’s cock. Without ceremony or hesitation, John lifted his hips and sank back down onto his mate. Sherlock’s mouth fell open in silent wonder; John, impaled, ground his hips against his alpha until he found…

He roared his delight as he found the angle that gave him what he needed. He braced himself against his alpha’s chest and began to ride.

Sherlock groaned with every down thrust, but did not move to take control or dictate his omega’s movements. He was passive, relaxed—lost to the delightful sensations John was sharing with him as he strove to slake his own hunger.

They moved together, awkwardly at first. Trying to find that synch…the rhythm.

Finally, John began to pump himself mercilessly up and down onto Sherlock’s throbbing heat. And it was so good. Almost enough. Almost…almost…

Sherlock shouted as his knot inflated and John sank down, hard, one last time. Sherlock pushed up; a satisfying pop sealed the knot inside John’s body.

“SHERLOCK!!!”

Head thrown back, arms wide in abandon—with complete trust and adoration—John came. 

_______________

**Six weeks later**

“Everything will be fine,” John seethed, arms crossed over his chest. He fidgeted in the uncomfortable chair in Doctor Awiti’s waiting room. “Bloody condoms. Can’t anyone make anything that bloody works anymore?!”

Sherlock was casually flipping pages in an out-of-date National Geographic beside him. “Condoms—like many forms of birth control—have a limited effectiveness. They were the best option under the circumstances, but you know the numbers better than anyone.” He set the magazine on his lap, fussing with the corner of one page. “I’m…sorry. If I had noticed sooner, perhaps…” He hesitated, looking at John out of the corner of his eye. “We don’t have to do this.”

“What?”

“This. The…pregnancy.”

“Oh, no. No,” John said swiftly, instantly feeling guilty. “I don’t…” He released a ragged breath. “Even though we didn’t plan this one, it is still our child.” He covered his stomach with both hands reflexively. “And it’s not your fault. I should have been more aware, and had supplies in the house.”

Sherlock’s features relaxed a little and he nodded. He took one of John’s hands in his own and squeezed.

“What about you?” John asked softly.

“What about me, what?”

“How do you feel about it?” John asked. “This will mean more time away from the work. More mess around the house—not that you would notice their clutter. More of my time taken up.”

Sherlock’s gaze was steady as he regarded John. “Did you think I wouldn’t be prepared for those changes when I asked you to consider having children with me in the first place?”

“Well, no.”

“John, I know I am not what most people would consider to be a ‘sensitive’ person. However, you know I do feel—very deeply. And strange as it may seem to anyone who knew me before I met you, I am madly in love with you and our boys.”

John smiled at him. “I do know that.”

“I gave very careful thought to the idea of reproducing before I mentioned it to you. It would have been absurd to ask you to consider changing your mind about parenting under any other circumstances. I realized there would be a great deal of compromise involved—so many sacrifices on your part, particularly. But the more time I spent with Archie and his little friend…”

“Ahmed,” John filled in for him.

“Yes. The more time I spent with them, the more I came to see the benefit to having children. I liked showing them things. I liked their sense of wonder. It felt…good…knowing I had added something positive to their lives. Their affection was…nice.”

“They adore you. Both of them. And I’m sure Archie’s plan to read chemistry at uni is all down to you.”

“Hmmm,” Sherlock agreed with a subtle nod. “This baby, like Kit and Drew, will be some combination of my own characteristics and yours. And these are not inconsiderable. Our children have the potential to be adventurous, brave, creative, loyal and brilliant. They might be musical or they might be athletic. Or both. And then they will have their own unique traits as well. Kit constantly surprises me—and you know how precious that is.”

John snickered. “Yeah, I do.”

Sherlock turned in his seat. “What I’m trying to say is that I may still forget myself as a mate and a father from time to time. My passion for the work occasionally consumes me, and I hope you will be able to forgive me for that. But I knew what I was getting into. You’re what I wanted from the moment I met you. Our children are everything I could have hoped for and more. Never for a moment should you wonder if I will begin to resent any of you for being in my life, because that is exactly where I want and need you.”

John swallowed hard against the tears that threatened. Damn hormones.

“And, as we have established, my job is ideally suited to parenting,” Sherlock continued casually. “I have flexible hours. I can work from home. I can take time off whenever I need to.”

“That’s very true.”

“You’ve told me that we’re financially stable.”

“Also true.”

Sherlock nodded. “Good. So that’s that.” He twined their fingers. “Of all the things worrying you, my feelings do not need to be among them.”

“Dr. Watson-Holmes?”

“Yes, that’s me,” John called. He stood to follow the young man into the exam room with Sherlock right behind him.

Dr. Awiti popped into the pleasant yellow room only a few minutes later. “Good morning! And how are my favourite detectives?”  She sat at her desk and logged into the computer. “How are you feeling, John?”

John sighed heavily from his perch on the examination table. “A little hacked off, if you want the truth.”

Dr. Awiti’s gaze was sympathetic. “I understand. My third was a surprise as well. Does rather take the wind out of your sails for a bit.”

“It’s just—we hadn’t really discussed…” John shrugged, looking down at his hands in his lap. Sherlock reached up from his chair and settled a hand on John’s thigh. John covered it with one of his own. “I just wanted more time to think about it. See how we got on with just two. You know?”

“I know.”

“When are they going to get around to approving that after-heat pill, anyway?”

“I’ve heard it should be ready before the end of the year,” Dr. Awiti said cheerfully. “I know that doesn’t help you.”

John sighed. “Yeah, just my luck.”

“But you do still have options,” Dr. Awiti said. Her expression became very solemn. “If you really don’t feel you can cope with this baby…”

“No, I know,” John sniffed, hating that he was feeling so sensitive about the whole thing. “I don’t want to terminate, I just…I just wasn’t prepared.”

Dr. Awiti leaned in and patted his knee. “I would tell you that the feeling will pass, but I think you know that.”

John nodded. Sherlock stood beside the exam table and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. John let his head fall onto his mate’s shoulder.

“I know. I love my boys and I love being their dad. We’ll figure this out.”

“We’ll have a quick check on everything, but your blood work all looks pretty good. The midwife was concerned about your blood pressure, though, which is why he sent you back to me. We’re going to monitor very carefully. And Mr. Holmes?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, sounding oddly meek.

“I know you’ll do everything you can to make John’s pregnancy as stress free as possible.”

Sherlock’s arm tightened around John’s shoulders. “I will take excellent care of him. You have my word.”

_________________

**On a Monday morning, five weeks after that…**

John straightened his tie and took a moment to examine himself in the full-length mirror. He turned sideways and scrutinized his whole frame, reflected with the rumpled bed he shared with his mate behind him. He pressed a hand to his still-flat belly and smiled—nearly three months gone and he was still feeling and (if he did say so himself) looking great.

Not that he minded the rounded evidence of pregnancy. He hadn’t been crazy about the weight gain, but he had quite enjoyed the satisfying feeling of sheltering new life. But being as he’d only just got himself back into fighting trim after Drew’s birth, he was pleased to get to enjoy it for a little longer.

“No sign of you yet, little bean,” John said softly, patting his belly. “And still no sign of morning sickness, either. Thanks for that, by the way.” He considered this for a moment. “Maybe Mrs. H is right. Maybe you are a girl.” He chuckled. “Either way, you’ll be brilliant.”

He was whistling when he stepped out of the bedroom into the hallway. He could hear the tell-tale sounds of his family in the sitting room, and stopped in the kitchen doorway to admire the scene.

Kit was clean and dressed, perched on his knees in the middle of the floor and putting the final touches on a Lego Duplo castle. Sherlock, still in his dressing gown and pyjama bottoms, was cross-legged beside him, using one hand to continue sorting bricks by colour and size. His other hand was extended in the direction of Drew, who had pulled himself up to stand beside the coffee table. Drew was slapping the table with delight, bouncing to continue testing the strength of his little legs, and jabbering away to no one in particular.

“Papa?”

“Yes, Kit?” Sherlock replied, glancing up once to check on Drew’s stability.

“I think Drew is trying say your name.”

“Oh?”

“Hmmm,” Kit said thoughtfully, not looking up from his blocks. “That word in the middle sounds like ‘Papa.’”

Sherlock listened and watched Drew for a moment. The baby turned to smile at him and Sherlock grinned back.

“You may be right,” he said to Kit, looking perhaps more pleased at the idea than he would ever admit to John.

John entered the room, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Good morning, my lads!” he called.

“Da Da Da!!” Drew shouted.

“Look at you, my big boy,” John said. He stepped over to the coffee table and reached down to pull Drew into his arms. “Going to take a few more steps today?” He nuzzled the baby’s cheek and went a bit melty when Drew sighed and wrapped his little arms around John’s neck.

“Look, Daddy!”

John turned to admire Kit’s masterpiece. “That is marvellous, Kit. You’ll have to get Papa to take a picture for Uncle My, hmmm?”

Kit nodded enthusiastically.

“And Papa’s been helping, has he?”

Kit thought about that for a moment. “Well, Papa’s good at sorting, but he doesn’t know where the blocks should go.”

Sherlock held his hands up in defeat. “I admit it. This sort of thing has never been my strong suit. Fortunately, Kit is kind enough to let me play with him anyway.”

Kit beamed. “Papa, I  _always_  want to play with you.”

John crouched down to place a kiss on Kit’s messy curls. He stood, shifting Drew to one hip. Sherlock stood, too, and leaned in for a kiss.

“Mmmmmmorning,” Sherlock growled. He brushed his knuckles over John’s cheek and let his gaze wander down over John’s outfit. “You look very nice.”

“Thanks, love,” John said softly. “And thanks for the lovely morning.”

“It’s fine. I know Drew was a bit fussy last night. I would have come up from the lab, but I was covered in…something not good.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I thought you could do with a bit of a lie in and a long shower.” His brow furrowed. “A suit?”

“Meeting at the office today, remember?”

“No,” Sherlock said honestly. “What do they need you for?”

“I’m a partner in the practice, Sherlock,” John reminded him. He walked to the kitchen. “Mike runs the day-to-day affairs, but I do need to provide some input on the proposed expansion,”

Sherlock followed as John poured himself a cuppa with one hand. “But surely you could just—I don’t know—send an email?”

“This is my career,” John continued calmly. “I don’t want to send an email.”

“But—”

John handed a wriggly Drew to his Papa and held up a hand. “We’ve discussed this.”

Kit chimed in from the sitting room. “Papa has to filtra lot of wit-wit-wit…”

“Witless babble,” Sherlock finished. “Quite right, Kit.”

John rolled his eyes. _God, there were going to be two of them._

“Can’t they do this without you?” Sherlock pressed on, settling a hand on John’s hip.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am a specialist and well-respected in my field,” John said calmly. “We decided to add sex surrogates to the practice and they want me to be there for the interviews today.”

“But you know what Dr. Awiti said!”

_And there it is._

John set his cup down and wrapped one arm around his mate’s waist. “I know you’re worried, but I’m fine, yeah? I’m pregnant, not ill. And keeping my stress down includes you not giving me aggro every time I want to go somewhere.”

Sherlock pulled John into the plane of his own body and dropped his chin to John’s shoulder. He was very quiet for a few minutes. John stroked his back and waited.

Finally, Sherlock whispered, “I need you to be okay.”

“Pop, pop, pop!” Drew cried, slapping Sherlock’s shoulder enthusiastically.

John chuckled, nuzzling into Sherlock’s neck. “I know that, love. So does Drew, apparently. You have to trust me—I will take care.”

“Daddy?”

They both turned to see Kit standing in the kitchen doorway, watching them expectantly.

“Hey, sweet boy,” John said lightly, fearing the worry in Kit’s little face. “Are you ready to go to school? Come and give Papa a kiss bye-bye.”

Kit visibly relaxed and ran forward to clasp Sherlock around his legs. John lifted him so he could give his papa a kiss and then set him back down.

“Oh, lovely. Thank you,” Sherlock said. “You go and get your bag and I will see you both for lunch.”

“Okay!”

“I swear he’s getting taller every day,” John remarked, watching him go.

Sherlock finally relented and set a restless Drew back on the floor. “Two centimetres this month.”

John snickered. Of course Sherlock would know  _exactly_. “Oh, god…look!!”

They watched in wonder as Drew pulled himself up with the help of the kitchen chair and then released it as he stood.

“I think he’s going to do it,” John said.

“Shhh!” Sherlock grasped John’s hand to keep him from surging forward to help. “Let him go. He’s had lots of practice.”

Sure enough, Drew wobbled only briefly before toddling back toward his play mat on slightly unsteady legs. John slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from gasping. His eyes welled up—bloody hormones.

Sherlock smiled at him and pulled him close. “And he’s off. There won’t be any stopping him now.”

“God, no,” John sniffled. “Not if he’s anything like you.”

“Right, then,” Sherlock said, taking a deep breath. “Into battle?”

John gave him a quick peck. “Into battle. Be good while we’re gone. If Dimmock calls…”

“Call the crèche and drop Drew on my way,” Sherlock rattled off. “I know.”

“And don’t forget to text your brother about Drew’s birthday party on Saturday.”

“I won’t,” Sherlock promised vaguely. He wandered into the living room and flopped back onto the floor beside Drew—who was gnawing on his stuffed giraffe.

Kit reappeared, bag in hand. “Ready!”

“Off we go, then,” John grinned at him, taking his hand.

____________________________________________

**Thursday morning, that same week**

“John?”

“Mike, hey. What’s up?”

“Sorry to grab you before you’ve even got your coat off, but I thought you might like to say hello to Mary.”

“Mary…oh, yes! Absolutely.”

John threw his coat over his chair and left his bag on the floor by his desk and waited as Mike turned to usher their new contractor through the door. He smiled genially at the petite blonde woman as she entered his office. She was short for an alpha—even slightly shorter than he was. Funny he hadn’t noticed that on Monday. She was dressed simply in a tunic and leggings with a pink scarf wrapped artfully around her neck. She smelled strongly of her unbonded status beneath a thin layer of some kind of floral perfume.

“Dr. Watson-Holmes,” she began, stepping toward him with her hand outstretched. “Pleasure to see you again. And thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

“Please, call me John. Nice to see you again, as well,” John replied, shaking the offered hand. “We’re all very excited to have you join the practice.”

“Thank you…John. It’s such a great thing you’re doing,” Mary offered. “I’ve been working as a surrogate for more than ten years, and I can’t tell you how many stories I’ve heard about omegas who were too frightened or self-conscious to go to one of the clinics. Now that the NHS has approved a private, in-home option, I think we’ll see a sharp decline in the number of heat trauma cases in A & E.”

John nodded approvingly. “Well, I certainly appreciate your professional perspective. As an omega doctor, I’ve heard plenty of those concerns. And from alphas as well—rut injuries are far too common. Even my own mate fought the idea of going for help, before we met.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she replied. “I hope she didn’t suffer too much.”

John glanced down to where her hand rested on his forearm—an empathetic gesture. It was a good sign in an alpha surrogate, to be sure. Omegas deserved tenderness and understanding when they were at their most vulnerable.

“He, actually,” John said. “Fortunately, he was fairly young when we met. He didn’t have to go through it for long.”

“He. Sorry. Well that’s good news. It’s always nice to hear about couples who found each other when they were young.”

“Uh, well, he was. I…wasn’t. So much.”

Mary’s mouth opened slightly and then she closed it again, blushing ever so slightly. “I’m so sorry. That was presumptuous of me. I didn’t mean to pry—”

John chuckled, waving a hand. “It’s fine. Honestly. I’ve made my peace with being mated to a younger man. A very  _hot_  younger man.”

“Awwww, clearly you are still very much in love.”

John chuckled again. “Yeah, we are.”

“Mike tells me you're expecting. Is this your first?” Mary asked.

“Hmm? Oh. No, this is number three,” he said with a fond smile, glancing down at the slight swell which was only just beginning to make itself known. He rubbed his belly and sighed. “Which is part of the reason I restrict my time with the practice.”

“Three? How lovely,” Mary said softly. “It’s a lot of work, though, I expect.”

“It is, but my mate and I are equal partners. We manage quite well.”

“Oh? That’s…great. You’re very lucky to have an alpha who shares responsibility for the more domestic things.”

“Oh, I know,” John admitted with a wry smile. “Society has changed a lot, but some people are still living in the dark ages. I don’t know why anyone would expect an omega or a beta woman to be wholly responsible for raising the kids and keeping the house when they have a partner who can help—especially with careers and other things.”

Mary’s face fell ever so slightly. “I-I always hoped to have children myself one day. Give up surrogacy and settle down. I still haven’t found the right person, I guess.”

“Oh, I bet they’re right around the corner,” John said brightly. “Honestly, I had basically given up when I met Sherlock.”

Mary gazed up at John, her expression radiant—as though he had just handed her the moon.

“Just got a text from that last young chap we interviewed,” Mike chimed in from where he was checking his phone near the door. “I mentioned to Mary that we’re hiring omegas as well.”

“Absolutely,” John said firmly, addressing Mary. “Though we’re adding surrogates as we find them. We’d rather have the right people than take anyone just to say we have x number of surrogates of each gender.”

Mary nodded, her blue eyes drifting very subtly over his frame.

John shifted onto his back foot, going cold at the casual perusal. He took a breath to speak and…thought he detected a subtle shift in her scent. He watched her carefully for a moment, waiting for any additional overt signs.

“And the offer still stands for you contractors to share office space here,” Mike rambled on, still staring at his phone. “For first meetings and follow up and such, if you like.”

Mary did not take her eyes from John, but her demeanour remained calm and non-predatory. He mentally shook himself. Of  _course_  she would not be signalling her interest to a mated and pregnant omega. He’d been kind and she appreciated it. That was all. Anything else would be incredibly unprofessional. He inhaled again, noting with relief that he could not detect any scent markers. He must have imagined it. Bloody hormones.

“Right, well, we should keep moving if we’re going to get Mary around to everyone before she has to go,” Mike said.

“Lovely to meet you,” John said, once more offering his hand. He smiled warmly, hoping she hadn’t noticed his momentary wobble.

Mary clasped his hand between both of her own. “It’s a real privilege. I hope we’ll have the chance to chat a bit more about your work with gender dysphoria. And I’d love to hear more about your family.”

John nodded. “Anytime. And welcome!”

When they were gone, he shook his head at his own fanciful thoughts and sat down at his desk. He logged into his computer to prep for his first patient.

Wishful thinking, that’s all it was. It had been ages since any alpha other than his mate had displayed more than a passing interest in him. Which was fine.

Because how could any omega want anyone other than Sherlock Holmes?

______________________________________

**Saturday’s big event**

Drew was waddling in circles around the sitting room, singing out loud (sort of) along with the Silly Songs CD Mrs. Hudson had given Kit for his third birthday. Somehow, Kit had decided the music was a birthday tradition and had demanded they have it on since early morning. Drew, for his part, was thoroughly enjoying it.

“This is ridiculous and insipid,” Sherlock groused. He was tapping away on his laptop, finishing notes for a private client in Morocco.

“Not for you,” John reminded him. He was seated in his comfy chair putting the finishing touches on the wrapping of Drew’s birthday present. “There.”

“Crooked.”

John regarded the bow with a frown. “Well, I don’t work at Harrods, do I?”

“Why must we go through this every time someone gets older?”

“Because it is a joyous thing to celebrate someone’s continued presence in the world. To celebrate children learning and growing,” John replied, falling back against the chair. “Why are you such a misery guts this morning?”

“Case is over.”

“Yes,” John said. “But you’ve got that stack of cold cases Lestrade gave you before he went on leave. You’ve only done about half of those.”

Sherlock slammed his laptop closed and slumped in his chair. “It’s not the same.”

“As?”

“As a real case, John!” Sherlock cried, jumping to his feet. “How long has it been since we were out there, on the streets? One month? Two?”

“Exactly three weeks.”

“Well…” He waved his hands as he paced to the centre of the room. “I need distraction. I need—”

“Pop!” Drew called, suddenly standing right in front of his papa. He gazed up at Sherlock adoringly, reaching skyward.

Sherlock stared down at the boy, his brow furrowed.

“I think your son would like you to dance with him,” John said with a smirk. He knew Sherlock’s moods—the restlessness, the black boredom. He just needed to be reminded that everything would be fine. Eventually. And Drew had a marvellous, sunny disposition that usually did the trick.

Sherlock gave a long, put-upon sigh (something Kit had also mastered in three short years) and swept Drew into his arms. He spun around the room in time to the (admittedly ridiculous) music, bouncing the small boy up and down.

Drew shrieked with laughter, head thrown back. He had both hands fisted in Sherlock’s shirt as his papa turned him around and around.

John watched, relieved and vastly amused, as Sherlock’s glower began to fade and his lips turned up into a smile. Before long, Drew and Sherlock were giggling like fiends. The music changed and Sherlock began to make funny noises along with the new tune.

“Pop! Pop! Pop!” Drew cried.

Kit sped into the room from the upper stairs, out of breath. “What’s Papa doing? Can I, Daddy?”

John leapt to his feet and swung Kit up into his arms. They joined the other two in the silly, giggly fun. And they were still at it ten minutes later when a booming voice called to them from the doorway.

“And what is this? You’ve started without us?”

“Unca Greg!!” Kit immediately slid to the floor from John’s arms and ran to his uncles. Greg caught him up and gave him a noisy kiss before turning him so Mycroft could peck the boy on the cheek.

Emmeline, in Mycroft’s arms, sweetly reached out to pat Kit’s face. He smiled at her.

“Hi, Em!”

The little girl smiled shyly and tucked her face into Mycroft’s shoulder. Her sleek, chestnut hair had been neatly trimmed to frame her face. Her eyes were the spitting image of Greg’s—round and rich chocolate brown with thick, dark lashes. She was a quiet child, but already gave every sign of being as bright and observant as Mycroft.

John approached with a grin. “Hello, sweetheart. Would you like me to take your coat?”

She looked at Greg, who nodded. She repeated the motion herself and lifted her arms to allow John to unbutton the plaid fleece to slide it off. Mycroft watched this with an indulgent expression. Like Sherlock, Mycroft was ill at ease with overt emotion, but his affection for his mate and his daughter was very evident.

Drew was anxious not to be missed out. He had already reached for Uncle Greg and been granted a kiss. Now he was straining in Sherlock’s arms to get to his Uncle Mycroft and Emmeline.

“All right, all right,” Sherlock said, struggling to hold on to him.

“Hello, Drew,” Mycroft said calmly, reaching out to pat the boy’s head. “Happy birthday.”

“Bir-day!” Drew repeated joyfully. He turned his attention to Em, who had been his best friend since they were born. He gabbled away at her—John picked out a handful of words, but the rest of the language only the pair of them understood. Em answered back, nodding vigorously.

Drew patted his father’s shoulder. “Pop?”

Sherlock nodded and set Drew on his feet on the floor.

“Down, Da?” Emmeline asked, looking up at Mycroft with those big brown eyes.

“Of course, my darling.”

He stood her beside Drew. All the adults watched as Drew took her hand and led her over to his toy box underneath the skull painting. The two little ones sat heavily—landing on padded, nappied bottoms—and began to play with some soft, stuffed building blocks.

John ruffled Kit’s hair. “Kit, why don’t you go up and finish changing for the party, hmm?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

With Kit sorted and the babies amusing themselves, John collected the rest of the coats and took them to the bedroom. Returning to the sitting room, he took a seat in the chair beside the sofa.

“Mummy and Dad should be here shortly,” Mycroft announced, sitting on the sofa at Greg’s side. “I sent a car to the station for them.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock acknowledged, taking a seat in his own chair.

“So are you two gearing up for Em’s big day?” John asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Greg said, rolling his eyes. “My sisters have been planning for weeks and this one—” he jerked his thumb in Mycroft’s direction. “Has been buying out every shop in London.”

Mycroft looked offended, one hand on his chest. “I have n—I didn’t—” He stopped and tipped his chin in the air. “She’s my daughter and I reserve the right to buy her whatever I like.”

Greg snickered and patted his thigh. “You old softie.”

“Oh, god,” Sherlock groaned as his older brother blushed. He stood abruptly. “I’ll fetch the beverages, then, shall I?”

“Thanks, love,” John said amiably. “I’ll have a Fanta. Greg?”

“I’d love ginger ale, if you’ve got it.”

Sherlock looked at John, eyebrows raised. He had no idea what foodstuffs made their way into the kitchen outside of John’s heats.

“Yeah, we do. Bottom left cupboard, Sherlock. And Mycroft?”

“Is there any sherry?”

“Sure.” John nodded at Sherlock as he stood. “I’ll get that if you get the others.”

In the time it took to fetch drinks and catch up, Kit had brought his colouring down to sit in the room with the grownups, Mycroft and his brother were matching wits over a recent mystery in South America, and the babies had tried to sneak down the stairs. By the time Mrs. Hudson and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes arrived, the house was bubbling with chaos.

The hot dogs (quartered and cut into small bites for the babies) and crisps, followed by birthday cake, were consumed. Presents were opened and wrapping paper tossed about with abandon. Drew was overjoyed with the all the visitors and the attention…and with his cake’s brightly coloured icing. John gave up trying to get it all up off the floor and resigned himself to an intensive clean once everyone had gone home.

Later that night, with the boys upstairs in bed giggling off their sugar high in lieu of actually sleeping, John crawled into a nice warm (but not too hot) bath. Sherlock was nearly finished with the last of the clearing up—including the sticky icing—and shooed John out of the kitchen.

John sank into the lightly scented water and sighed his deep satisfaction.

“It was a good day,” Sherlock remarked. He had changed into his pyjamas and dressing gown and was leaning against the doorframe with a mug of tea.

John tilted his head to look back at Sherlock. He reached up and was granted Sherlock’s tea. He took a sip and made only a mild face at the sugar in it before handing it back.

“It was. Drew is going to be exhausted tomorrow, but it was such a good day. Thanks, love.”

“Don’t thank me. You did all the work.” Sherlock moved into the room and dropped gracefully to the floor to sit cross-legged beside the tub. “Too much work. Are you feeling all right?”

“Tired, but just fine. I checked my BP; very close to normal.” John smiled at Sherlock’s solemn nod at this information. “And I did have help. Mycroft and Greg helped with the food—which was pretty entertaining, by the way. Has your brother ever actually eaten a hot dog before?”

“No idea,” Sherlock said with a smirk. “My mother hated them, so he wouldn’t have had them at home. I would be inclined to say no, overall.”

John smiled at that. “But he did help. And you did the clearing up.”

“Nevertheless,” Sherlock replied. “You bore the brunt of the details. As you do for most everything to do with this household every day.”

John shrugged. “That’s my job.”

“Do you mind?” Sherlock dipped one hand into the bath and traced over the faint remnants of John’s existing stretchmarks.

“Mind what?”

“Having so much responsibility. For the boys. And for me.”

“Sherlock…”

“It’s just—I know you hadn’t planned on having children. I know I am less than helpful sometimes. And neither of us wanted to fall into ‘traditional’ gender roles.”

“We haven’t,” John said firmly. “I work. And I go on cases with you. And you do your fair share around here.”

“Is it enough?”

John studied Sherlock’s furrowed brow. “You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

Long fingers splayed out over John’s belly.

“Oh, right,” John said, watching Sherlock’s hand on his body. “Because the new baby wasn’t planned. You’re worried that it might be _me_ who comes to resent our family…”

Sherlock shrugged and stared into John’s eyes, waiting for a sign.

“Look, love, I’m not going to pretend that I’m looking forward to childbirth or that I like the housekeeping or changing nappies. Yeah, it feels like that old-fashioned ‘omega’s work’ sometimes. But the thing is, physically I’m the one who has to have the babies. If I’d never bonded or had the boys, I would be so very, very lonely.”

“And me,” Sherlock whispered.

“All the other stuff, well…I don’t do it all by myself and I know you don’t expect that.” John lifted a wet hand to clasp Sherlock’s hand to his abdomen. “I’m not doing this alone, and I love you for it. I was saying that just the other day to Mary…”

“Who?”

“Oh, Mary Morstan. Have I not said? She’s the new alpha sex surrogate we’ve hired for the clinic. Lovely woman.”

Sherlock raised a brow. “Is she?”

“Mmm. Anyway, she was asking about my mate and how we manage with the work and the kids. She was pretty impressed by the way we share things around.”

“Oh, was she.”

John’s head snapped up at Sherlock’s dark tone. “What? Oh, no, no. Sherlock, you have nothing to be jealous about. Mary’s very nice, but she’s…well, she’s not you, is she?”

Sherlock huffed, focusing his attention on John’s naked belly.

John chuckled. “Do you know, I’ve never heard you use the word ‘babysitting’ to refer to looking after Drew and Kit.”

Sherlock’s nose wrinkled in confusion. “Why on earth would I? I am not _sitting_ with them—they’re mine! I’m their father, too!”

“Exactly,” John smiled fondly. “And there are an awful lot of alphas who would think you weak and less of an alpha because you feel that way. Just like there are plenty of omegas who give me the gears about putting myself in danger when I’m working cases with you.”

“Do they?” Sherlock’s voice grew harsh. “Who said so? Who was it? Was it Anderson? I’ll—”

John chuckled and leaned up to stop his lover’s mouth with a kiss. “We’re okay, love.”

Sherlock blinked a few times, processing, before a crooked smile appeared. “Okay.”

**_______________________________________________**

**Two months later**

“Oi, John!” Greg shouted from the kitchen. “You want some more lemonade?”

“No, thanks, mate. If I do, I’ll just have to pee again.”

Greg snorted as he came back into the lounge of the home he shared with Mycroft. “Yeah, I don’t miss that.”

“No. Definitely not one of the best bits,” John agreed. “Thanks for having us over today.”

“Sure. Glad to have the company.”

Greg stepped around and over the toys Emmeline and Drew had been playing with since they woke from their afternoon nap. Kit was happily tucked into the corner at the far end of the sofa, playing with his blocks where the babies couldn’t “wreck” them.

“Sorry it was on such short notice.”

“Well, it isn’t as though you knew Sherlock was going to set a small fire in his lab.” Greg dropped into the seat next to John.

“True. But then, it isn’t like it hasn’t happened before.” John stretched and tried to stifle a yawn. “Oh, god. And I’m sorry that I fell asleep after lunch. Kit had nightmares last night; kept us up—though Sherlock didn’t seem to mind the loss of sleep.”

“I think you and I both deserved a nap with the kiddies today,” Greg said with a smile.

“I’m kind of grateful Kit had a little doze, too, what with so little sleep last night. He really hasn’t napped for ages.”

“So no major damage from the fire?” Greg asked.

“Fortunately, no. Sherlock got it out right away. He just thought we should all leave the house while he aired it out. Mrs. H went to Mrs. Turner’s next door.”

“No case?”

“No case,” John confirmed. “Sometimes he’s a pile of useless strop when he’s got nothing on, and other times he’s like a high-strung puppy—starts chewing the bloody furniture.”

“Life with Sherlock.”

“Should be a comedy.”

“Dunno,” Greg mused. “Can you make body parts in the fridge and murder funny?”

John considered this. “Murder by Death. 1976.”

“Oh, god, yeah. That’s a classic, isn’t it?”

John hummed his agreement as they watched the kids play. “Lunch was great, by the way. I love your housekeeper’s cooking.”

“Yeah, Peter is amazing.”

“I think we need a housekeeper.”

“Besides Mrs. Hudson?”

John snorted. “We’ve probably taken advantage of her good will long enough.”

“Well, I never thought I’d go in for having someone in to help out, but I have to say: It’s bloody amazing. My’s used to it, of course. He’s been living like this for years.” Greg took a sip of lemonade. “It beats the hell out of cooking and cleaning for yourself.”

John nodded. He leaned forward with the tissue he had in his hand and wiped Drew’s runny nose.

“So, back to work any day now?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. Work.” Greg sighed. “Thing is, I put it off by another month—cashed in some holidays. It’s just…” He gestured helplessly to the little dark-haired girl playing on the floor. “I mean don’t get me wrong—I LOVE being a copper. I love it. It’s all I ever wanted to do.”

John watched him for a moment. “Until now?”

“Yeah. Mental, right?”

“Nope.”

“God, I just hate being away from her. It tears my guts out, you know?”

“I do. I love my practice and my patients, but there are days when it’s nearly impossible to be away from these two.”

“I knew I’d love Em, even before she was born, but I didn’t know it would be this strong,” Greg said gruffly. “My mum used tell me I’d understand when I had my own—that there would be a day when it wouldn’t seem so scary to put other things in my life aside for a while, for my kid.”

“Aside…”

“Mycroft is worried sick that I am going to regret it, but…” Greg pursed his lips and cocked his head. “Yeah, well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot and…I think…I think I’m going to put in for early retirement.”

John sat back against the sofa, stunned. “You? But—”

“I know. I know—honestly, I never thought I would be that kind of breeder. Never.” He shook his head. “My mum always worked, though I know she gave up lots of other things. And it was good, you know? We never felt we missed out. And she was happy. She was doing something she liked and was good at. We were proud of her. I just always thought I’d do the same.”

“You’ve been on the force a long time.”

“Twenty-two years this year,” Greg looked at his hands in his lap. “And I’ll miss it. I know I will.”

“But you think this is the right thing.”

Greg raised his head and looked at John. “Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

John let that settle, turning to watch their kids playing happily together on the floor. Em and Drew had developed such a strong bond that they usually only fought when they were overtired. Em was almost always the leader. She would hand Drew toys and point to where she wanted them. She would pat him gently and he would say something to her in their shared language. It was sweet, and getting to watch his little one this way always made John feel a bit misty.

Damn hormones.

“I think it’s fantastic,” he said finally. “If this is what will make you happy, then nothing else matters.”

“Thanks, mate,” Greg said, his voice a little thick. “Thanks.”

John cleared his throat. “Right. I’d better text His Nibs and see if the flat is habitable again.”

“You know you can always stay for tea, if you like.” Greg checked his watch. “My is due home any minute. He’s going to work at home for a bit and then he’s mine for the rest of the day.”

“Thanks. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get out of your hair and let you three enjoy your evening together.”

“Daddy?” Kit piped up. He’d scrambled to his feet and was moving in John’s direction.

“Oh, hello,” John said brightly. “You’ve been so quiet playing over there I almost thought you’d gone away and left us.”

Kit giggled. “Daddy!”

John reached out to ruffle his hair. “What is it, sweet boy?”

Kit pressed in against John’s knees. “Can we go see Angelo for supper? And have l’zana?”

John considered this. “Lasagne, hmmm? I’ll see what Papa has to say, but I don’t see why not. Greg, would you three like to join us?”

Greg grinned. “Actually that sounds like fun. I’m sure My won’t mind coming for a bit.”

John started a message to Sherlock, smiling at their son. “There you are, Kit. All sorted, and lasagne for supper.”

“YAY!!”

_______________________________

**And two weeks more**

John was finishing up with the last of his patients when there was a knock on his office door.

“John?”

“Mary—hello. How are you?” John smiled as the alpha entered his office.

“Just fine, thanks. And you?” Mary looked pointedly at John’s 22-week belly.

John smiled. “Very well. Feeling good.” It was only a little bit of a lie—his blood pressure was still a bit elevated, but stable.

“John.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m so sorry to take up your time…”

“Oh, honestly. I don’t mind. I always enjoy our discussions. It’s nice to chat with someone who understands the work.”

Mary smiled brightly. “Well, I have something of a delicate case and I was hoping I might be able to discuss it with you.”

“Is it one of my patients?”

“It is—Margo French?”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

“Is now a good time?”

“Uhmmmm….” John quickly checked his phone, but there were no texts from Sherlock, who was at the Yard. Mrs. Hudson was getting Kit from nursery school for them, and Drew was at the crèche for the day. “Actually, it should be fine. Why don’t we go and grab a coffee—well, you can grab a coffee and I’ll have some decaf.”

“That would be wonderful.” She touched John’s arm as he gathered his coat. “You really are a wonderful mentor.”

“Not at all,” John said lightly. “It’s my pleasure.”

__________________________________

**Six months and counting**

“Kit will be an alpha.”

“What’s that?” John asked, looking up from the magazine resting on his bump.

They were lying in bed together—John in an oversized nightshirt and Sherlock only in his pyjama bottoms—having put the boys to bed early. John was reading a recent medical journal and Sherlock was visiting his Mind Palace. Though apparently he’d returned.

“Kit. Our son. Alpha.

“Oh, yes. You’re sure of that, are you?”

“I think so. The scent markers aren’t there yet, of course, but Kit has the protective instincts of an alpha. He’s confident in his decisions, and he can be quite territorial.”

“True,” John agreed, still perusing the article about early presenting omegas. “Been thinking about this for a while?”

“Since last month. Dinner with my brother and Lestrade.”

“You know, they’ve been bonded for three months. He is officially your brother-in-law, so you could start calling him Greg on a regular basis.”

Sherlock made a huffing noise. “Tedious.”

“Yes, people’s names are very tedious,” John teased. “Go on then. You were saying about Kit.”

“Yes. And Drew and Emmeline.”

“Oh, I see. You observed their dynamic that night over dinner and you’ve been analysing.”

“Haven’t you?” Sherlock looked over at him, perplexed.

“Only in a very casual way,” John admitted. “Does it matter to you—what they present as?”

Sherlock resumed staring at the ceiling. “Not in the sense that it will change how I feel about any of them. But it’s interesting.”

“I suppose it is.”

Sherlock rolled to his side and propped his head on one hand. “Tell me what you think they are,” he prompted.

“I’d rather keep you guessing.”

“No, seriously. I want to know what you think. You’re the expert.”

“Oh, am I?” John fluttered his eyelashes. “Well, I’m overcome. You should be careful—flattery like that might just turn my ordinary mind to mush.”

There was a long pause. John wondered how far Sherlock’s eyes could roll back in his head before they stuck there. He started giggling, losing hold of his journal as it bounced on his belly. He let it fall to the floor.

He was still wiping his eyes when he looked over at his alpha’s utterly unamused expression.

“Are you quite finished?” Sherlock asked blandly.

“Maybe,” John snickered.

“This is a very serious subject.”

“Oh, I suppose,” John breathed.

“So?” Sherlock prompted again.

John rolled to his side so they were face to face. “If I were a betting man, I would agree that Kit will present as an alpha.”

“And?”

“Well, Drew is more difficult. He’s very strong willed—not afraid to play on his own or be different from other children—but he is also comfortable taking direction. He’s good-natured and mellow, not at all territorial. But he is very protective of Em.”

“Good. So?”

“I think Drew is a beta. Granted, he could turn out to be an omega like me, but he doesn’t have the look about him. At least not now.”

“Agreed,” Sherlock said, reaching out to stroke over John’s jaw line. “And Emmeline?”

“Alpha, definitely. She is so sweet and very gentle, but she always knows exactly what’s what and has no qualms at all about directing others. She’s territorial, though more as an observer/defender.”

“Hmmm,” Sherlock said, studying John’s face as he lovingly traced its shapes with his fingers. “All very good observations.”

“Thank you,” John said. He slid Sherlock’s fingers from his cheek and kissed them, and then pressed them to his chest. “You do realize that these characteristics are all entirely fluid and any of the kids could turn out to be any of the above? I mean, we’re going on history and precedent, but it’s been forty years now since researchers started to question how much ‘typical’ gendered behaviour was actually just a response to social dictates and external influences.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Actually, I was just chatting with Mary about this the other day. It’s a field of study that is exploding right now.”

Sherlock was quiet, observing John.

“What? What is it?” John asked, brow furrowed. “You’ve got that look.”

“You mention Mary a lot.”

“I don’t. Do I?”

“Yes.”

John considered this, still holding Sherlock fingers to his chest. “I hadn’t really—I don’t mean to.”

“Do you…find her attractive?”

“No. I mean, yes she is an attractive woman, empirically speaking. But no, I am not attracted to her.”

“Is she attracted to you?”

“No,” John scoffed. “No, I’m sure she’s not.”

“Are you? Very sure?” Sherlock probed, eyes narrowing.

John hesitated. “No—I mean there was that thing, when we first met, but I’m sure I just imagined it.”

Sherlock’s nostrils flared. “What _thing_?”

“I thought I could smell…well, it’s ridiculous! I’m mated. And pregnant.”

“Pregnant omegas are very attractive to alphas, John.”

“Well, yes, but look at me!”

Sherlock looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Sherlock, I’m no longer young. I’m short. I have grey hair. And I’m waddling. I mean, come on.”

“That’s very insulting.”

“What?”

“I find you very attractive. So if you aren’t really attractive it means that my perception is flawed somehow.”

John softened immediately. “Not at all, my love. You just happen to find short, grey-haired doctors with scars attractive.”

“Well...yes. I guess I do.”

John tipped forward and kissed the tip of Sherlock’s nose.

“And I’m very grateful for it.”

Sherlock smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Me too.”

“I’m sorry I talk about Mary. I’ll try not to in future. It’s probably because she’s always so interested in talking to me. Makes me feel clever and that.”

“Just be careful. She’s still an unbonded alpha. There is always a risk, no matter how small.”

“I will,” John said softly. “Promise.”

“Spoon?”

“Sounds lovely.” John said. “Just…give me a minute.”

He tugged his nightshirt out from under him and rolled over onto his other side. Sherlock slid in behind him, pressing warmly against John’s back, bottom and legs.

“Mmmmm. That’s nice,” John sighed.

Sherlock hummed his agreement into John’s hair.

“Sherlock, about what we were talking about before—the kids.”

“Yes?”

“Are you sure it really doesn’t matter to you?”

“Nope,” Sherlock replied, popping his “p.” “As long as none of them are as annoying as Anderson, I’m happy.”

John snorted. “Given that they don’t have any of his DNA, and they never spend time with him, I think we’re pretty safe on that score.”

Sherlock pressed a kiss to the back of John’s neck. “Go ahead and sleep. I’ll get the boys if they need anything.”

“Thanks, love,” John yawned.

______________________________

**Two weeks more**

There were small children giggling and shouting, playing a game of Sherlock’s devising—which did worry John just a little bit. But as no one was crying as yet, he was content to sip his decaf tea in the kitchen with Greg.

“What is the point of this one?” Greg asked, puzzled.

“Not entirely sure,” John replied. “I think they’re supposed to pin the body parts to the picture of the corpse.”

“Nice.”

John shrugged. “At least I know what I’ll be doing tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Making apology phone calls to the other parents.”

Greg snickered. “Never a dull moment.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” John chuckled.

“I’m amazed Drew can sleep through this racket. Em would never have made it—it’s why I left her home with My.”

“That is the glory of my youngest son,” John said. “He can sleep through just about anything. No, he’s down for his nap and he’ll wake up only for his brother’s birthday cake.”

“So a four year old?”

“I know.” John shook his head. “I can’t believe how fast the time has gone. I swear it was only yesterday I was weaning him. And going through potty training. And watching him take his first steps.”

“Speaking of potty training—how is that going with Drew?”

“Ah, well, I couldn’t really say. Potty training is actually Sherlock’s department.”

“Really?” Greg’s brows climbed nearly to his hairline.

“Yes, really. He has a knack for it. He’s…weirdly patient. I don’t know why. But I don’t question it. The boys have both responded to his method and as long as I stick with the program…mostly it works.”

“Huh.” Greg took another sip of tea. “Never occurred to me to have Mycroft take the lead on that one.”

“Em having trouble with it?”

“She’ll do really well for a bit and then regress.”

“Yeah, it can go like that.”

“At least she weaned herself without too much fuss.”

“Yeah? I had a bit a struggle with Drew. He was terribly cranky for a few days.” John smiled. “It was the cuddling he missed more than the milk. So we’ve added some Daddy bonding time to our day.”

There was a shout from the sitting room, followed by a round of delighted children’s laughter.

“I think they’ve just finished with the brain, then. Ready to go out and set up for the next adventure?”

“You bet,” Greg agreed. “Candy?”

“Candy. No point sending them all home without the sugar high.”

______________________________

**And two weeks later**

“I said STOP IT!!” John shouted.

Kit and Drew both froze where they were—wooden spoons raised for another go at the pots and pans—and stared at John. John rubbed at his aching head and tried not to notice how worried his children looked. He did have a temper, but he had always tried not to raise his voice with the boys.

“Daddy?” Kit said, his voice trembling.

“Where is your papa?” John asked sharply.

“I’m right here,” Sherlock said, striding back in from the bedroom. “I was gone less than a minute.”

John rounded on him, feeling every minute of his long morning in the clinic. “You can’t leave them alone, Sherlock. Not even for a minute! Anything could happen!”

“They were in my line of vision down the corridor the whole time,” Sherlock protested. He reached out. “You need to calm down.”

“I am—don’t tell me what to do! I come home from a horrible morning at work to this ungodly uproar. Whatever possessed you to let them do this?”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “They enjoy it,” he said. “John, why don’t you come and sit down. Your feet are swollen and it’s clear you have a headache. We should probably check your blood pressure.”

“OH, fine. And we’ll just leave them here alone in the kitchen, then, shall we? Near the cooker. And the knives?”

Sherlock bent and scooped a puzzled Drew into his arms. He reached back for Kit. “Come on, Kit. Come and sit on the sofa with Daddy. He isn’t feeling very well.” Sherlock turned and herded John in that direction.

“I don’t want to sit down. I want…oh, god, I don’t know what I want,” John finished wearily.

Kit, still looking a bit worried from John’s outburst, followed at a distance. He waited until John was settled, Drew on his lap, before getting too close.

John watched him, sick at the expression on his son’s face. “Oh, Kit. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted. I’m not angry with you.”

“Whatsa matter?” Kit asked cautiously.

John shook his head. “It was a very bad day at work, sweet boy. I had to do some things that were very sad and then...never mind.” John tried to smile for his son. “None of that is to do with you. I’m so sorry I shouted. I didn’t mean it.”

“Come and sit beside Daddy, please, Kit,” Sherlock interjected. He sat down beside John and patted the spot beside him. “I’ll need your assistance to check him.”

Kit nodded. “Is the baby sick?”

“No, no,” John tried to reassure him. “But Daddy has to take special care not to get upset and I wasn’t doing a very good job of that just now. We’re going to make sure everything is okay.”

Sherlock retrieved the home monitor they’d acquired to keep track of John’s blood pressure, along with his computer. He set the machine on the sofa beside Kit and attached the cuff to John’s arm. He tapped at his computer, opening—John knew—the spreadsheet in which he’d been recording all of John’s data since they found out about the baby.

“Now then,” he started, patting Kit’s leg. “I need you to hold Daddy’s other hand, Kit, and make him feel better. All right?”

Kit nodded vigorously. He clasped John’s hand, nudging his baby brother to do the same. Drew mumbled something that sounded like “Dada luv” and pressed his little face into John’s chest. John let himself sink into the sofa.

“Better now?” Sherlock asked softly, not taking his eyes from the monitor.

“Yes. Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Sherlock said mildly. He waited as the machine ran through its program three times and then recorded the data.

“What’s the verdict?”

Sherlock raised a brow at him.

“What’s all this, then?” Mrs. Hudson asked. She had snuck up the stairs without them noticing and was standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “John, love, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. H. Just being cautious,” John replied lightly.

“I got worried when all the banging stopped. I thought something might have happened to the boys.”

“Sorry about the noise,” John said.

“Oh, don’t mind about that. You just let your mate take care of you.”

“Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock started, rising. “Would you happen to have any freshly baked biscuits down in your flat?”

“Biscuits? Well, I made some last night. Why…” She trailed off as she watched the look exchanged between the two men. “Here, now, Kit, why don’t you and Drew come downstairs with Nan and we’ll have some biscuits and watch that funny program of yours, hmm?”

Kit looked at his daddy, who gave him a smile and a nod. “Okay!”

Sherlock took Drew and handed him off to Mrs. H while Kit slid from the sofa and took her hand.

“That’s it,” Mrs. H said cheerfully. “Papa can come and fetch you when it’s time.”

Sherlock waited until they were out of earshot before sitting down beside John.

John studied him, seeing the knowing look in his alpha’s eyes. “What do you know?”

Sherlock took a deep breath. “You had five appointments today, but one was cancelled.” He studied John for a moment. “Gender dysphoria?”

“A suicide attempt,” John supplied weakly. “She is a lovely kid—bright and funny—but her parents can’t accept that she identifies as a beta female. She’s been through the psychological assessment; we were supposed to meet today to get her started on the hormone therapy for her transition. But something happened at home yesterday. She took a load of pills last night.”

Sherlock nodded solemnly. He was not given to effusive sentimentality, particularly for people he did not know, but John knew he could easily identify with the struggle. Being outside of society’s norms, in whatever way, could be incredibly painful. A greysexual alpha who’d had no interest in mating certainly understood what it meant to be different.

“Is she…”

“She’ll be okay, but—damn it all to hell!!” John spat. “Why must people be like this? Why can’t they just accept and love their kids the way they are?”

“We were lucky,” Sherlock said softly. He held John’s hand tightly and rubbed over the knuckles.

“Damn right. I don’t think my mum and dad even knew what a ‘normal’ omega was supposed to be. God rest them, they encouraged me to do what I wanted and be happy. And your brother may be a bit of a high-handed twat sometimes, but he went looking for whatever it would take to help you be who you wanted to be rather than watch you suffer and turn to drugs.”

“And he found you.”

“A lonely, broken omega with an adrenaline addiction, who had never been in love and had decided not to breed.”

“Perfect,” Sherlock replied, lifting John’s hand to his lips.

“We are. For each other. You loved me because of who I was, not what I was—the same way I love you. If we’d never had kids, I know you would still love me.”

“I would. I love Kit and Drew. And I love this one,” he murmured, gently touching John’s gently rounded belly. “I am grateful every day that you were willing to take that leap with me, but you were enough.”

“And if you decided one day that you didn’t want to have sex ever again, I would still love you. Our bond is about so much more than that.”

“I know.”

There were tears in John’s eyes. “Why isn’t everyone allowed to be who they are?”

“Shhh.”

“I won’t let that happen to Drew and Kit, Sherlock. I won’t.”

“Certainly not,” Sherlock soothed.

Sherlock drew him close and let John cry into his shoulder. John wound a hand into Sherlock’s lapel and held on. Sherlock continued talking, soothing words about their last case and Kit’s morning at nursery school and Drew’s new words. John breathed him in and felt the tightness in his shoulders starting to ease.

At length, John heard Sherlock sniffing him.

“Oh, that’s—sorry about the scent,” he snuffled and swiped at his eyes as he pulled back to look at Sherlock. “Mary was in today. She was there when I got the news. Gave me a hug.”

“Ah,” Sherlock said.

“I’m sorry, love. I was upset and she was right there…it didn’t mean—”

Sherlock held up a hand. “I know.”

“Sorry.”

Sherlock shook his head. “I suppose, then, I’ll just have to hold you until you smell like us again.”

“That sounds wonderful,” John sighed, instantly relaxing.

They fell back against the sofa, wrapped in each other’s arms.

______________________________________

**And another two weeks on…**

John was stuffing paperwork into his bag with more force than was necessary, strictly speaking. He was in a mood, as Sherlock would call it. Though as far as John was concerned right at the moment, Sherlock could sod right off.

“John—oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were getting ready to leave.” Mary hovered near the half-open door to John’s office.

“No, you’re all right,” John said, trying to keep the temper out of his voice. “What do you need?”

“Well, nothing, actually. I was just going to see if you had time for a coffee today.”

“No. I don’t.” John stopped fussing with his bag and dropped his head. “I’m sorry. Please try to imagine I said that without snapping at you.”

“Of course,” Mary said genially. She took a tentative step inside his office. “Is there anything I can do?”

John sighed, straightening and rubbing at the small of his back. “I don’t know—can you transform a six-foot wanker of a detective into a responsible grown up?”

“Ah,” Mary smiled wryly. “Mate problems?”

“Oh, yeah,” John griped.

“What’s he done?”

“He just—” John huffed, waving one hand in agitation. “He makes such a point of talking about how we’re partners, and we’re in this together…and then he just buggers off to chase down a murder suspect. Which means I’ve had to cancel my last patient so I can go pick up the boys…” John looked up at Mary and shook his head. “But none of that is your problem.”

“Well, no,” Mary agreed. She sat in the chair in front of John’s desk. “But if you have a few minutes before you have to run, I am a very good listener.”

John’s shoulders sagged. “I shouldn’t. It’s just…it isn’t that I don’t love him or that he doesn’t love me—”

“But maybe he could just be a little more sensitive to your needs?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” John admitted sheepishly. “He just forgets. And I know he doesn’t mean to. But when he does it is such a strain on me, and the boys, and I just…”

“Come on, John,” Mary urged, patting the seat of the chair beside her. “Why don’t you sit and take a moment. You’re upset and that can’t be good for you right now.”

John nodded, fighting the threat of tears. Bloody, double-damned, motherfucking hormones. He settled heavily into the seat beside Mary, not resisting when she took his hand into her own.

“Now then,” she said kindly. “Tell me all about it.”

**______________________________________**

**Eight months**

“But…bed rest?”

Dr. Awiti stared John down. John’s last check-up with the midwife had gone well in all respects save one—John’s blood pressure was now the highest it had ever been.

“John, you need to take things easy,” the doctor said evenly. “There’s no sign of preeclampsia, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Sylvia, I have two kids and two careers,” John said. “How am I supposed to just put my feet up and do nothing?”

Dr. Awiti looked at Sherlock. The alpha was sitting very solemnly at John’s side, looking a little stricken. He locked eyes with Dr. Awiti and nodded.

“I’ve spoken with my brother,” Sherlock began. “I know you had mentioned to Grant—”

“Greg.”

“That you wouldn’t mind us having a housekeeper,” Sherlock continued, unperturbed. “Mycroft recommended the agency they used to hire Peter. I’ve narrowed the choices down to three. All of them are experienced in and certified for childcare as well. I’ll have them come around tomorrow to meet with us and you can decide who you would like.”

“Sherlock—”

“And while I will miss having you out in the field with me, I will still need you to write up my cases for me. That you can easily do from our bed or the sofa.”

“Now just hang on—”

“Mike will not have any difficulty reassigning your patients.”

“SHERLOCK!”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he stopped, his mouth still open. John’s fists were clenched and pressed into his thighs as he glared at his mate.

“We make decisions together.”

“I know, but—”

“Together,” John repeated with no less insistence but slightly less volume.

Dr. Awiti took a deep breath. “John, I understand how frustrating this will be for you, but your life—and the life of your child—depends on you taking care of yourself.”

“I know that,” John said, trying to remain calm. “And I will do this. I just refuse to be treated like an invalid or a child.”

Sherlock hung his head, twisting his fingers in his lap.

John’s stomach lurched—he hated it when he hurt Sherlock’s feelings. It felt like kicking a puppy.

“Perhaps I should give you two a few moments alone,” Dr. Awiti said. She stood and pulled the door open. “You can see yourselves out when you’re done. No rush—and take care of each other, yeah?”

“Thanks, Sylvia,” John said.

He waited until the door closed behind her before scooting his chair closer to Sherlock’s and covering the twitching violinist’s fingers with his own.

“Hey,” John said gently. “I’m sorry. This is—look, I know you’re doing this for me. For us. And I love you for it.’

Sherlock nodded, still not looking up.

“I just…I hate being looked after. I always have.”

“I know,” Sherlock said, his voice very small. “But this is—if I hadn’t taken that case two weeks ago…”

“Sherlock, my blood pressure has been an issue from day one. You didn’t cause this.”

“But I didn’t help.”

“Look, let’s just start from where we are, right? Let’s begin again. Together, okay?”

Sherlock nodded once more.

“I’m going to be fine, Sherlock. I promise you. This is just a precaution.”

Sherlock finally lifted his head. “You have to be.”

John softened, cupping the man’s cheek with one hand. “I will be, love.”

“I need you.”

“And I need you,” John confirmed. He leaned in and kissed Sherlock. It was gentle and soft. Just a sweet brushing of lips to seal their pact.

When they parted, Sherlock sighed and dropped his forehead to John’s. “Can we still get the housekeeper?”

John smirked. “Oh, yeah. Honestly, I was going to mention it sooner, but I got side tracked with that embezzlement case.”

“The Yan twins. That was a good one.”

“It was.”

“What are we calling it?”

“Yuan to be a Millionaire?”

“No. Absolutely no.”

John chuckled. “Yes, love. Ready to go home?”

“Please.” Sherlock stood and offered his hand.

John pulled himself up with a groan. “I’ll get things sorted for being off my feet for a while. And Drew can nap with me today.”

“Good.”

“We really will be fine, you know.”

“I know. I’ll make sure of it.”

__________________________________

**Eight and a half months**

John prodded at his belly, giggling as various bits of the baby pushed back out against his flesh.

“Oh, I think that’s a foot.”

He pressed back against that side and waited. “Oh, and that looks like an elbow, maybe?”

There was another good kick and he moaned.

“All right, all right,” he sighed. “I’ll leave you alone—go back to being bored out of my bloody mind.”

He’d read every one of his medical journals. He’d read the books Greg had loaned him and watched every recorded episode of the Great British Bake Off. Which only made him hungry.

Now he was stuck in his room alone, counting the passing of time with every tick of his old analogue alarm clock. Kit and Drew were playing with Em at Mycroft and Greg’s, and Sherlock was off with Dimmock for a really promising disappearance case.

There was a light rap on his bedroom door and it opened a crack. “John?”

“Louise—come on in,” he said eagerly. “Everything all right?”

“Oh, yes,” their new housekeeper said. “Actually I was about to make my way. Supper is in the refrigerator for when Sherlock and the little ones get in. And I’ve finished the washing.”

“Bless you.”

The young woman grinned. “Anyway, I was just getting my coat when the telephone rang. There’s a lady on the line—says she works with you. Mary?”

“Mary. Mary Morstan.” John smiled, in spite of himself.

For all of Sherlock’s worry that Mary might be a threat, John had found to his relief that she had instead turned out to be a friend. He’d been so angry with Sherlock a few weeks back—Mary had kindly listened to his rant. She’d agreed that Sherlock had been careless and hadn’t been thinking about John. But then she’d listened without judgment as John talked himself round and reminded himself, out loud, of all the reasons he loved his mate more than anything.

“Would you like me to take a message?”

“No, thanks. I’ll take it.” John reached out eagerly for the phone. “God knows I could use a distraction.”

Louise stepped in and handed him the phone. “Right, then. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be off.”

“Thanks so much,” John said, one hand over the receiver of the landline they almost never used.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

When Louise had gone, John put the receiver to his ear. “Hello? Mary?”

_“John? Oh, thank god you’re there!”_

“Mary, what is it? You sound upset? What’s wrong?” John sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

_“It’s Margo, John. Oh, god. I think—something is terribly wrong. I can’t manage this on my own.”_

“Have you called the ambulance?”

_“I can’t. I’m terrified that she’ll do something desperate if I do. Oh, John! Please come! We need you!”_

“Mary, I’ve been put on bed rest—”

_“John, please!! You’re the only one she really trusts!”_

John stood, decision made. He started slowly toward the chair and picked up the jumper he’d discarded earlier. “Right. Of course. I’ll be right there. Give me the address…”

Thirty minutes later, John’s taxi pulled up in front of a non-descript block of flats in North London. He stepped out slowly, taking a moment to get the kink out of his back before paying the driver. He double-checked the flat number before heading in.

When at last Mary opened the door to number 32, John was relieved not to hear or see anything worrying.

“Oh, John. Thank goodness you’re here!”

“I got here as soon as I could…”

“And you must be exhausted. Just look at you!” Mary led him in and closed and bolted the door behind him. She took his elbow and led him into the flat. “You look wonderful—so rosy and round.”

“Uh, right. Look, Mary where is Margo? How is she?”

“Hmmm?” Mary looked a bit puzzled as she led John deeper into the flat. “Oh, Margo. Oh, let’s not worry about that right now.”

John frowned as he took in the scene before him. There was a carefully laid table with fine china, linens and flowers in the middle of the room. Soft music played in the background and the lighting had been dimmed to romantic levels.

_Oh god._

John turned slightly, pulling his elbow from Mary’s grasp. “Mary? What’s going on here? Where is Margo?”

Mary shook her head. “I knew you wouldn’t come without a very good reason. And you are such a good doctor—so caring and so gentle. I certainly want you to continue practicing after we bond.”

Mary held a chair out for John and waited.

“What—when we…what?” John stammered. “Mary, I am already bonded to an alpha I love! I am not…there is nothing of a romantic nature between you and I!”

“Silly,” Mary chided.

She grabbed John by the arm and dragged him forward—her alpha strength was more than a match for him at nearly nine months pregnant. His big belly threw him off balance and he slid sideways into the chair to keep from falling. Behind him, Mary patted his shoulders.

“Now then, I’ve got all your favourites. You sit right here and let me serve you. It’s what you deserve.”

John sat, stunned for a moment, as Mary wandered off to the kitchen humming to herself. Finally, the shock faded and his training kicked in. He quickly surveyed his surroundings. Door locked and bolted, key gone. The windows were all sliders and there was no sign of a balcony or fire escape. No phone—mobile or otherwise—visible. John slid his hand into his pocket for his own phone and pulled it out.

“Oh, that won’t work in here,” Mary said cheerfully, setting a steaming bowl of cock-a-leekie soup in front of John. “I didn’t want any interruptions for our first night together, so I bought one of those…what do you call them?”

“A signal jammer?” John offered, horrified.

“Yes, of course,” Mary breathed. She bent in and kissed John’s cheek. “You’re so clever. My lovely, clever omega. How lucky I am!”

John stared at the food in front of him as Mary sat in the chair across the table.

“Well, go on,” she urged. “Eat up while it’s hot. I’ve got lovely roast lamb with minted peas to come.”

John felt his heart sink. He’d have to find a way to incapacitate her, and for an omega in his condition—well, the odds were hardly in his favour. Unless…

“Mary,” he began, stirring at the soup in front of him. “When you say our first night together…”

“Mmm,” she said, waving a hand. “I know we can’t bond until after the baby is born. It would be very dangerous to break the bond now—well, of course, you know all about that. I read your paper on broken bond baby syndrome. You poor, poor thing!!! What that awful alpha has put you through.” She reached across the table to pat his hand. “I will always take such good care of you. I will cherish you every day of our lives. You’ll never feel neglected or put upon as my omega.”

“No, no. Of course not,” John replied, fixing a smile on his face. “You are a very kind person. I know you would never hurt me.”

“Of course not,” Mary agreed. “Come on, now. Eat up. You need to think about our little one in there.”

John turned to his soup in silence, pondering his next move. He took his time, labouring over every spoonful to drag the time out as much as he could. By the time Mary had cleared the first course and begun bringing the second, nearly a half hour later, he had decided to opt for a different tack.

“So…you know that Sherlock will look for me.”

“Perhaps,” Mary said cheerfully, setting a platter of meat and veg down in the centre of the table. “But he’ll never find this place. It’s under an assumed name. I have a few. It’s never a good idea to get yourself tied down.”

John chewed on that for a moment while Mary served him.

“But what will you do if he does?”

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that,” Mary said, patting John’s cheek. “I’ll protect you. I have ways.”

 _Weapon_ , John thought. _Somewhere close._ He began scanning the room in search of a likely—

The banging on the door caused Mary to jerk to a stiff upright position. She froze with the serving spoon in her hand.

“Who in the world could that be?”

“Neighbours?” John offered lightly.

Mary strode to the door cautiously. “Who is it?” she called.

“Building management!” the voice called back. “We’ve had a complaint about noise!”

John nearly wilted in relief. That was Greg. Greg’s voice. His lovely ex-copper brother-in-law was outside the door.

“Well, it wasn’t about this flat!” Mary countered. “As you can hear, we’re not making any undue noise here.”

“Open the door. We need to speak with you.”

“No!” Mary shouted, clearly beginning to panic now. “No! Go away! We don’t want you here! We want to be left alone! My mate and I are having a very quiet night in and we can’t have any interruptions—”

Mary jumped back as the door was kicked in. Uniformed special forces—ah, so this was Mycroft, then—spilled into the room. Mary was pressed to the floor, hands over her head.

Greg was the first friendly face John saw, and he nearly collapsed with relief.

“Oh, Greg, thank god!” He stood and gladly accepted his friend’s hug.

“Easy now,” Greg soothed. “We’ve got you. It’s all over. You’re safe now.”

“Thank you. Thank you!” John panted. “How—”

“Mycroft’s surveillance of the flat. They picked you up, leaving in a hurry, and Mycroft thought it was a bit odd. He was concerned Sherlock might be hurt or in danger, so he tracked you. When your signal went dark, he pitched everything into high gear. As it happened, Sherlock had just called me looking for you. You weren’t at home and your phone wasn’t ringing through. I got him—”

“Sherlock!” John cried. “Is he here? Where is he?”

“Shhhh,” Greg said, patting John’s arm. “He’s here. We just didn’t want him in here going feral until we had the scene under control.”

Greg waved at one of the women in uniform. She turned and sent the signal on out into the hallway. Moments later, Sherlock strode briskly into the room. He made a beeline for John, who was already reaching for him.

John sank gratefully, wearily, into his alpha’s arms.

“Sherlock, Sherlock…” he chanted, burying his face into his mate’s neck.

“John,” Sherlock groaned, his hold fierce but gentle. “My John. Thank god you’re safe. I can’t…”

“Don’t. Don’t even think it,” John whispered. “We’re safe. We’re safe.”

Sherlock nuzzled at John and lapped gently at his bonding mark while the tactical team began to clear the scene.

“Sir?” One of them said, addressing Greg. “Do you want to accompany the prisoner?”

“Uhh,” Greg began. “Best not. Not really my job anymore!”

Two of the team lifted Mary from her prone position, her arms secured behind her. She was limp and sobbing—a heartbroken sound.

“She’s…not well,” John said, to Sherlock as much as to anyone else.

“I know,” Sherlock said softly. “She’ll be put somewhere safe. Where she can get help.”

John nodded, suddenly so exhausted that he could barely support his own weight.

“Sherlock, you know how I was complaining about bed rest before?”

“Yes?”

“At the minute, our bed sounds like just about the best place in the world.”

__________________________

**A happy ending, of course**

“She’s really pink, Daddy.”

“That’s because she’s very new, and she’s had a bit of a day,” John said wearily. He smiled at Kit, who was kneeling beside him on the bed peering down at their new family member.

“What’s her name?” Kit asked, reaching out one tentative finger to touch the back of the baby’s tiny hand.

“Well, Papa and I were thinking we would name her Beatrix Isabella.”

“That’s a big name,” Kit said wonderingly. He was still in his pyjamas, having abandoned Mrs. Hudson’s flat the minute Sherlock called down to say the baby had been born.

“And we’ll call her Bea.”

Kit looked up excitedly. “Papa LOVES bees!”

“I do,” Sherlock agreed, entering the bedroom with Drew at his side. The 18-month-old was clutching at Sherlock’s hand and still wiping the sleep from his eyes with the other.

“Hello, pet,” John cooed, beaming at Drew. “Would you like to come and see your baby sister?”

Drew nodded and released Sherlock’s hand to toddle to the bed. Sherlock followed, offering a rump boost to help get Drew up onto the bed beside Kit. Kit shifted back to sit on the pillow next to the one propping John up, and leaned up against John’s shoulder. Drew knelt beside John’s hip, wiggling close enough to get a good look at Bea, who was now cleaned up, wrapped in the receiving blanket from her Grandad, and wearing her little knitted beanie. She’d nursed a little right after the birth and was nestled into John’s chest in exhausted slumber.

“What do you think, then, Drew?” Sherlock asked.

Drew looked back at him and pointed in the direction of the baby. “Small, Pop-ah!”

“Drew!” John cried. “He said Papa, Sherlock! The whole thing—did you hear?”

“Of course I did,” Sherlock said stoically, trying not to look incredibly pleased. He bent down and gave Drew a firm kiss to the top of his head. “Yes, she is very small, Drew. But she’ll grow.”

“She’ll be big and strong, just like you two,” John said, his voice a little thick. “My beautiful boys.”

The midwife reappeared then, having dealt with the afterbirth. “Hello, everyone,” he said pleasantly. “Is it all right if I finish the clean-up now?”

“Please go ahead,” John replied, yawning. “I think I’m about ready for a little rest anyway. Six hours isn’t bad, but it still takes it out of you.”

The midwife continued into the room and went about clearing away the soiled sheets and his own equipment.

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Drew into his lap. “I’m glad you got to have this one your way.”

“Me, too.” John reached out for Sherlock’s hand. “Thank you for protecting and taking such good care of us, and helping us get right to the end. I’m so happy we could do this at home.”

Sherlock nodded. “Best place, really.”

“Our home is most certainly the very best place,” John agreed.

The baby mewled and her tiny fingers splayed.

“Is she gonna wake up now?” Kit asked hopefully.

“Let’s wait and see,” John said softly. They all held their breath, watching as Bea’s eyelids fluttered and her little lips pursed…and then she went right on sleeping.

“I think she’s saving her energy for when Gran and Grandad get here,” Sherlock suggested.

“Yeah,” Kit agreed, nodding wisely. “Prob’ly.”

“Gran?” Drew asked. “Gran?”

“Yes, pet. Gran is coming to visit today. And she will want lots of hugs and kisses from you,” John assured him.

Drew beamed and nodded his agreement with that plan.

“Speaking of,” Sherlock said, standing again. He set Drew on his feet and reached back to help Kit from the bed. “We’d best get ourselves some breakfast and some fresh clothes before everyone arrives, hmmm?”

“Okay!” Kit shouted. He dashed for the door, and Drew pursued as fast as he could.

Sherlock turned back and gave John a lingering kiss, one hand on the baby’s head. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too, Sherlock.”

“You’re the best part of me.”

“Ditto,” John grinned.

“PAPA!!” Kit shouted from the kitchen. There was shuffling noise and then the unmistakable sound of cereal cascading over the lino.

Sherlock groaned.

“Still sure about this whole family thing?” John teased. “We’re in for about another five years of this craziness—at least until all of them are in school full time.”

Sherlock turned to face him with a saucy grin. “I know.”

“And?”

“Well, then, my dearest John…the game is on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks! I just had this little thing niggling at the back of my mind so I thought I would write it down. Again, this is me using A/B/O verse to explore our own cultural issues but having men deal with "women's issues." What if men were the ones who had to decide whether or not to reproduce? And what if they were the ones who had to decide how to balance career and family in a society that talks about equality but doesn't really practice it? What if men were the ones who usually had to deal with unwanted attention from the opposite sex? This is done with two relatively supportive Holmes mates, but there are still challenges. And there is the little side Mary plot, which has absolutely no reference to canon whatsoever. I hope you enjoyed the fluff!


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